New York Music Daily

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Category: stoner music

Good Cop and Bad Cop Try to Remember Make Music NY 2014

Good Cop: Before we get sidetracked, which is what we usually end up doing, let’s run down the artists we got to see at this year’s Saturday edition of the annual buskers’ celebration, Make Music NY. We both agreed that four-piece percussion group Ensemble Et Al were a lot of fun. I had never seen a gamelan orchestra other than on PBS, so I really liked Gamelan Kusuma Laras, who hit the spot especially for me considering that Bad Cop had insisted I drag myself out of bed early on a Saturday just to get up to the Upper West Side for an act so bad that I’m not going to even mention who he was.

Bad Cop: My bad.

Good Cop: Ain’t that the truth. I was really out of it, and I was really in a bad mood after you subjected me to a wanky bass player singing Christian rock. Now your logic was that somebody who’s willing to play a show at ten in the morning has to be totally punk rock, he probably stayed up all night the night before, right? Well, you didn’t do your due diligence. And besides, there are other people who would be willing to play at ten AM on a Saturday. They’re called morning people and they are evil.

Bad Cop: At least the gamelan put you in a good mood.

Good Cop: Why didn’t you at least google the guy? I sure could have used another hour of sleep.

Bad Cop: I did. Couldn’t find anything.

Good Cop: My point exactly. I think you did it to be sadistic. Anyway, we agreed that the other two acts we saw, Killer Killy Dwyer, who’s sort of a combination performance artist and comedy-rock songwriter, and then instrumental rock band No Grave Like the Sea were also worth running around Brooklyn to see.

Bad Cop: We would have seen more bands but there were a lot of no-shows.

Good Cop: I don’t want to get into that.

Bad Cop: It’s germane to the conversation.

Good Cop: OK. The boss at this blog had mapped out a plan that sent us all over town, with plenty of choices depending on how much time we needed to get from Point A to Point B and so on. I’m sure we were the only people in town who were doing anything that crazy!

Bad Cop: As expected, lots of people who were on the Make Music NY master calendar either didn’t get to where they were supposed to be on time, or completely blew off their sets.

Good Cop: The program made a point of saying that set times were approximate…

Bad Cop: Approximate doesn’t mean nonexistent. This happens every year. I blew this off last year but I went to the one the year before, at least tried to, and saw a grand total of two bands in about six or seven hours and most of that was on the subway since everywhere I went, there was nothing to indicate that anyone was going to play there. I might do this next year if Blog Boss asks, when it’s on a Sunday, but after next year, there’s no way in hell I’m blowing off work just so I can run all over town on the hottest day of the year.

Good Cop: This year the weather couldn’t have been better, and it cooled off even more at night.

Bad Cop: Temporary reprieve. Don’t count your chickens.

Good Cop: Good point. Anyway, let’s tell the people about who we saw, starting with Ensemble Et Al. How would you describe this band?

Bad Cop: I’d call them downtempo, trip-hop, chillout music, but with an indie classical thing on the side. They know who Philip Glass and Steve Reich are, that sort of thing.

Good Cop: I really liked them. They looked like they’re all good friends, they interacted a lot with each other. And then they played frisbee in the street afterward. Everybody in this band smiles a lot. Which makes sense because their music is hypnotic and intricate, and requires a lot of teamwork, and a lot of tradeoffs, and the four people in the band clearly like working with each other.

Bad Cop: Ron Tucker is the group leader. I didn’t catch the names of the other three. Everybody in the group switched off between instruments – marimba, vibes, glockenspiel, a little synth, a drum kit. They like loopy phrases that they run over and over again, then they shift tempos. Some of those were weird but others were more straight ahead. I thought it was cool that since the gamelan wasn’t set up yet, they started their set all over again. Even though we’d just seen them play those first two songs, I didn’t mind hearing them a second time.

Good Cop: Whoah, that’s high praise from this dude. Ensemble Et Al’s music is gentle and rippling but also dancing and energetic. It was on the quiet side, which I liked since I was short on sleep and in a bad mood. I wish I’d brought a mat.

Bad Cop: You would have passed out.

Good Cop: You’re probably right. Gamelan Kusuma Laras‘ music, at least at this show, was very dreamy and ethereal. As you’d say, it vamped along. They made a good segue with Ensemble Et Al. Some of their tempos were strange but others were more straightforward. Their performance was very tightly choreographed – various band members took turns leading the group – and they came across as being very well rehearsed. I guess you have to be if you have, what, 35 or so people in the group?

Bad Cop: Something like that. I agree, this really hit the spot.

Good Cop: The gamelan bells are tuned in some kind of approximation of the Asian scale. Lots of songs would start fast and then slow down, then really slow to a crawl at the end. I wasn’t expecting to hear as much singing as there was, and I don’t speak anything that would be spoken in Indonesia so I have no idea of what the lyrics were. But the contrast between the very sober, even somber, almost chanted vocals, and the high, airy, tinkling bell tones, struck a very beautiful balance.

Bad Cop: I wish they’d used that big gong more. It only got into one song, at least for as long as we stuck around, which was for the better part of an hour.

Good Cop: Then we went off looking for more gongs but couldn’t find them.

Bad Cop: Just the idea that more than one crazy person would lug a bunch of big heavy gongs into the middle of Central Park in the midday sun, in the age of global warming, on the longest day of the year, makes me laugh. This was ostensibly the New York Gong Ensemble – which according to Google, doesn’t exist, but somehow made it onto the Make Music NY calendar – and Blog Boss wanted us to check it out.

Good Cop: But it was on the way to the west side train and we had to get down to Chelsea anyway…

Bad Cop: Where there was another no-show…

Good Cop: And it looked like somebody was squatting in that band’s space…

Bad Cop: Which seemed to be happening a lot. And it wasn’t like bands were fighting over space, either.

Good Cop: As you might already know, what Make Music NY does is help secure permits for outdoor performances, all over town, all day long, every June 21. A great idea…

Bad Cop: Some backstory. The reason why Blog Boss didn’t cover this show personally is that Blog Boss is officially retired from covering Make Music NY, having written a scathing review a couple of years ago which among other things challenged the promoters to move it to a more realistic date, like in the fall when the heat isn’t so oppressive. Personally, I think the whole summer solstice connection is bullshit – remember, this whole thing got started by a bunch of French hippies.

Good Cop: So this is where the B team, a.k.a. us, goes into action. Our next stop was Grand Army Plaza where we expected to see a really good Balkan brass band, another no-show. Instead, there were a bunch of drum corps…

Bad Cop: …whose big extravaganza with banghra funk band Red Baraat we missed because by the time that got underway we had to get over to Branded Saloon a few blocks west to see Killy Dwyer. Now she was hot!

Good Cop: What she was wearing didn’t leave much to the imagination.

Bad Cop: Actually, when you think about it, it did.

Good Cop: I know where you’re going with that and you’re not going any further. Killy Dwyer used to front a parody band called Kill the Band. They put out a couple of albums and then broke up. This was recent. She was playing solo, with lots of digital loops: choir and orchestration and all kinds of stuff. What she does is funny songs interspersed with lots of improv, shock theatre set to music. And all the jokes have a political edge: she riffed on racism and gentrification and musicians getting priced out of the city and pretty much everything she did was funny. A lot of people who try to do political humor end up sounding really strident and she had both of us laughing out loud, which wasn’t easy to do considering that I was running on fumes and Bad Cop was really stoned.

Bad Cop: Let’s tell some of her jokes.

Good Cop: No, that would be a spoiler.

Bad Cop: But I wanna tell the one about the clitoris….

Good Cop: OK. She’s obviously got a theatrical background, knows how to work a crowd. So she asked everybody, does anyone here know what a clitoris is? And one guy sheepishly raised his hand. See, she said, that proves my point. There’s definitely a need for a song that explains what the clit is all about.

Bad Cop: And for awhile it looked like she was going to lie down in the street, right there in broad daylight for everyone to see, and rub one out.

Good Cop: And then she stopped because a bunch of kids on bikes went by and she blamed them for ruining her orgasm. Which was a setup for another joke which I’m not going to tell.

Bad Cop: It was kind of a throwback to the kind of edgy performance art you’d see during the punk era, except with up-to-date references, you know, idiots on Facebook and that sort of thing. Along with the jokes, she did a fake gospel song, some hip-hop and a creepy garage rock song that she played on guitar. I recommend that you see her sometime: she’s funny to listen to on the web but that’s no substitute for what she’s like in person. She’s at Sidewalk on July 31 at 11.

Good Cop: From there we actually were able to catch a G train to Bushwick for No Grave Like the Sea

Bad Cop: Who were epic. An amazing band, one of the best I’ve seen in a long time. Cinematic without being cheesy. Postrock instrumentals with big swells and dips and genuine menace. And fronted by the bass player. Usually a bass solo is the last thing I want to hear, but when it’s Tony Maimone playing them, I want to hear one in every song. And the reality is that he really didn’t play any solos at all, just variations on riffs. Big, fat ones. Damn, this guy is inspiring to watch.

Good Cop: I was surprised there weren’t more people in the park to see them. They really have presence. It was like being at Madison Square Garden – their themes really envelope you. [to Bad Cop] I think you liked them more than I did – I think it’s a guy thing. Swaying, thunderous rhythms and anguished screams from the guitar and that ominous, booming bass. It wouldn’t surprise me if a lot of their songs were used as video game themes. Navy Seals Kuwait Inferno Challenge! That sort of thing…

Bad Cop: But with the anthemic drive of a rock band, like Pink Floyd or the Church playing instrumentals, or Mogwai. Maimone played with a slide on the first song – when’s the last time you saw a bassist do that? He owns Studio G in Williamsburg so he brought a super state-of-the-art rig and a pedalboard. They did a song with a reggae beat, then one that was more trip-hop…

Good Cop: …but loud!

Bad Cop: Yeah, there was a truck depot across the street from the park but you couldn’t hear the trucks backing in. That’s how loud, and how good this band was. It made my night. The guitarist stayed within himself even though he was playing all these screaming, wailing lines, the keyboardist played all these weird washes of sound, and used lots of pedals, one with a backward masking effect. Some of it was like watching Savage Republic with a keyboard, but without the Middle Eastern influences, I guess you could say.

Good Cop: I wanted to try to catch some of the Dum Dum Girls show at Prospect Park afterward, but there were problems on the L train so I went home.

Bad Cop: You should have taken the G instead…

Good Cop: I wasn’t going to push my luck. We already got lucky with the G once on the way over and I didn’t want to risk it a second time. Getting stuck in the middle of Bed-Stuy after dark with no other trains, no bus, no choice but to walk, no fun.

Bad Cop: You probably wonder why this blog has waited til now to publish this…

Good Cop: If you’re new to this blog, or new to us, we appear here about once a month, to offer a fresh perspective…

Bad Cop: We’re the B team. When Blog Boss doesn’t want to go out in the heat, or run around in the rain, or runs out of things to say about a particular artist, we get the call. Up and down like a yo-yo between here and the minor leagues, just to entertain you…

Good Cop: Anyway, the reason why this hasn’t appeared til now is that Blog Boss wanted to publish a bunch of stuff about upcoming shows first. As I understand it, that’s what people who follow this blog have asked for. We aim to please!

Bad Cop: And ostensibly there’s a historical aspect to what we do, which I think is debatable. But I agree with Blog Boss that on the web, the idea of getting the scoop on a particular event – a concept that goes back to the print-and-paper era – is dead. The first people on any scene will be tittering away on Twitter and Instagram and 99% of that turns out to be bullshit anyhow. It always takes awhile for the facts to shake out, whether you’re dealing with a newspaper, a blog, some loser’s Facebook page, the works. The more things change, you know the drill. Look for more snarky stuff from us here in a few days

Stonesy Stoner Songs and a Bowery Electric Show from 7horse

7horse are a surreal stoner bar band – imagine a more trad version of the Black Keys after a couple bong hits of good hash. This band’s music is less stoned than it is high. They’re at Bowery Electric on July 9 at 7:30ish for $12.

Their new album Songs for a Voodoo Wedding is streaming at the band’s site. The opening track, Carousel Bar works an open-tuned Stonesy riff for all it’s worth – the bass doesn’t even come in until after the first chorus. “Had a ringside seat, was all you could eat, but you never got out of the car,” lead singer Phil Leavitt reminds, “I could sit right here for a hundred years rolling in the Carousel Bar.” That pretty much explains what this band is all about.

Meth Lab Zoso Sticker is another open-tuned, Stonesy, more or less one-chord jam, this one a slide-driven blues with an even stranger lyric. Flying High (With No ID) reaches for a Sticky Fingers-era take on oldschool soul, an uneasily amusing scenario about a guy who seems to be tripping in the airport and then on the flight. Imagine being on acid and having to deal with Homeland Security – it would be impossible not to have a laughing fit.

Headhunter Blues centers around a funny lyrical riff from baseball slang, and a romping post Chuck Berry tune that could be the Bottle Rockets (or the Stones, for that matter) with no bass. Long Way has a restless, minor-key, vintage Stooges menace, both musically and lyrically. Please Come On Home has a darkly shuffling hillbilly boogie vibe that recalls bands like the Gun Club and the Sideshow Tragedy. The funniest and also the most punk song here is I Know the Meaning of Rock N Roll: it’s totally mid-70s Detroit.

On the 4th of July brings back a Stonesy pulse: it seems to be a sly, surreal swipe at patriotism. So Old Fashioned blends LES punk blues with catchy Dolls glam, a shout-out to an “ancient recipe” that never fails to hit the spot. Some MF seems to be a spoof of hip-hop; the album’s longest track, Before the Flood strings together a bunch of old blues aphorisms over a skeletal Smokestack Lightning-style vamp. The final cut is the oldtimey A Friend in Weed, which is kind of obvious, but also unquestionably true. Most of these songs don’t reference anything after about 1973: aside from the strange absence of bass in places, this album could have been made then and would have earned the band plenty of road gigs or a maybe even a spot opening for somebody like Bob Seger or REO Speedwagon back when both of those acts were actually pretty decent.

Coppins Plays Smart, Socially Aware Bagpipe Rock and Eclectic Grooves

Coppins’ new album The Prince That Nobody Knows literally has something for everybody. It’s got a creepy southwestern gothic song, a reggae tune, lots of socially conscious, wryly lyrical, soul-tinged hippie rock and some funk. But what Grier Coppins really does best is play bagpipes. He got his start busking with his pipes at the corner of Yonge and Bloor Streets in Toronto back in the 70s, went on to lead bagpipe funk band Rare Air in the 80s and a decade later, the R&B-inspired Taxi Chain. The songs on this album – streaming at Bandcamp – reflect pretty much every stop along the way. But the bagpipe stuff is the most original, and it’s fantastic.

The album opens with one of those tunes, Spaceman from Weslemkoon, a catchy funk number with doubletracked guitars set against Coppins’ otherworldly drone. They follow that with the ominous, bluesy Don’t Know Where I’m Going, with its eerily clangin guitar menace. Throughout the album – which is magnificently produced, with all kinds of multitracking and elaborate, imaginative arrangements – Coppins alternates between tenor guitar and bagpipes.Chris Staig plays the heavier, more blues-infused guitar parts while Ayron Mortley handles the more soul, jazz or African-inspired ones. Terry Wilkins plays bass on most of the tracks along with Paul Brennan on drums and many special guests.

The first of the socially conscious numbers, Big Boy contemplates growing up in world poisoned by pollution and a mad dash to spend and consume, set to a vamping roadhouse blues theme. The soul-tinged Happy on Earth considers how “this earth is Hell – to the Devil, Hell is Heaven.” The reggae tune Great Day for Living is even more sarcastic:

The sun is coming up like a cruise missile head
I’m looking for the blue sky, there’s a yellow film instead
The glaciers are melting and the earth is heating fast 
But to stop production would be too much to ask

Wanna Be Happy sets a darkly amusing whorehouse narrative to a slow Mississippi hill country blues-tinged groove. Coppins follows that with Before They Call Me Home, a reggae-inflected hippie rock tune and then the album’s funniest song, Sauce in a Can. Over a roaring, Stonesy stomp lit up by saxophonist Jim Bish’s one-man horn section, Coppins discovers that the stuff on the shelf that saves him when he’s too high to cook might not be as wonderful an invention as it first seems – the joke ending is too good to spoil.

The nebulously political anthem Push has a slower, similarly Stonesy groove, like an outtake from Sticky Fingers. Blue Banjo Breakdown, which follows it, doesn’t have a banjo – instead, it contrasts a soaring bagpipe hook with fiddle accents and roaring Keith Richards-style guitar. Fueled by Jesse Whiteley’s ragtime piano, Can’t Leave the Ladies Alone tells the wryly funny tale of a guy who just can’t get enough of a good thing, over Dan Hicks-ish oldtimey swing. A country tune, Live Forever sounds like an improved and more soulful version of Bob Dylan’s You Ain’t Going Nowhere. After that, the band makes a bagpipe theme out of Malian-style desert blues and ends with the almost nine-minute title track, a metaphorically-fueled medieval narrative set to a backdrop that’s one part Grateful Dead, one part desert rock. Like so many of the songs here, the ending is the last thing you would expect.

Bang on a Can Marathon 2014: A Short Version (Sort Of)

[republished from New York Music Daily’s “serious music” annex Lucid Culture]

This year’s Bang on a Can Marathon continued a trend back toward the hallowed annual all-day avant garde/indie classical music celebration’s early years. The 2014 edition was shorter than any in recent memory – for awhile these things would start before noon and continue into the wee hours of the following day. This year’s roughly ten-hour extravaganza also drew more heavily on the Bang on a Can triumvirate – composers Michael Gordon, Julia WolfeDavid Lang and their circle – than on the global cast who numbered heavily and often spectacularly among the composers and performers featured throughout the previous decade. The reason? Construction at the World Financial Center atrium, where the marathon returned after being squeezed into an auditorium at Pace University last year.

The seven-piece Great Noise Ensemble, conducted by Armando Bayolo, opened auspiciously with a new chamber arrangement of Bayolo’s own Caprichos. Inspired by Goya’s series of the same name, it was a dynamic and colorful series of miniatures: apprehensive airiness, a fleeting carnivalesque passage, darkly rhythmic, looped variations, and dreamy drones juxtaposed with a lively outro. The following work, Carlos Carrillo‘s De La Brevidad De La Vida drew on the Seneca treatise, a rivetingly austere, resigned, spaciously cinematic tone poem of sorts punctuated by muted anguish, notably from Andrea Vercoe’s violin.

Violinist Adrianna Mateo became a one-woman string orchestra with Molly Joyce‘s biting, matter-of-factly crescendoing loopmusic piece Lean Back and Release. The trio Bearthoven – pianist Karl Larson, bass guitarist Pat Swoboda and drummer Matt Evans – followed a bit later with a similarly upward-sloping stoner postrock piece, Undertoad, by Brooks Frederickson. It recalled the relentless dancefloor minimalism that Cabaret Contemporain performed at the 2013 marathon.

Acclaimed vocal quartet Anonymous Four - who are sadly hanging it up after this year – shifted direction plaintively with The Wood and the Vine, from Lang’s demanding, richly echo-laden, hypnotically intertwining partita, Love Fail. Atmospheric postrock minimalists Dawn of Midi made a thematically clever segue with excerpts from their cult favorite suite, Dysnomia, replete with subtle polyrhythmic shifts that  rose rather than fell at the end. How pianist Amino Belyamani, bassist Aakaash Israni and drummer Qasim Naqvi managed to keep their place as the trance pounded onward was hard to figure. Or maybe they were just jamming.

Choral octet Roomful of Teeth sang the first two movements from Caroline Shaw‘s Pulitzer-winning Partita for 8 Voices,  incorporating squaredance calls and “a little bit of pansori,” as Shaw put it. That, and an indomitable, fresh-faced ebullience that rose and fell through ambitious rhythmic and harmonic shifts, the composer’s powerful soprano front and center. Nineteen-piece chamber orchestra Contemporaneous gave voice to Andrew Norman’s Try, a frantically bustling work replete with sardonic humor: every hint of calm gets dashed by agitated cadenzas from throughout the ensemble in a split second. There was a contrasting, calm second half, mostly for vibraphone and piano, which got lost in the real bustle of the crowd making their way up the escalator to the new mallfood court to the left of the stage.

Meredith Monk is fun! She and fellow singer Theo Bleckmann revisited four segments of her witty, Canadian wilderness-inspired Facing North song cycle, which the duo had premiered on the stage here two decades ago. Indians gamely trying to keep warm, long winter shadows and droll conversations eventually gave way to playful jousting, Bleckmann keeping a straight face as Monk needled him mercilessly. It was the big audience hit up to this point. The two returned a little later for some more monkeyshines with members of the Bang on a Can All-Stars.

Contemporaneous also returned, this time with a handful of Jherek Bischoff pieces. A brief, lushly neoromantic overture of sorts and a subdued, unexpectedly somber pavane were the highlights.

Pianists Emily Manzo and David Friend performed the day’s first genuinely herculean numbers, a pair of long, hammering, menacingly Lynchian compositions from the 80s by the late Monk collaborator and composer Julius EastmanJace Clayton‘s echoey sound mix subsumed the music in places – as a musician would say, he didn’t have a feel for the room – but all the same he deserves props as an advocate for Eastman’s frequently harrowing, undeservedly obscure work, further underscored by a brief, pretty hilarious skit that imagined a busy Julius Eastman section at a theme park.

These marathons typically pick up at the end and this one was no exception. Well-loved art-rock house band the Bang on a Can All-Stars stomped through the Trans-Siberian Orchestra style bombast of JG Thirlwell‘s Anabiosis, then vividly echoed the otherworldly, watery ambience inside the old Croton Aqueduct via Paula Matthusen‘s Ontology of an Echo. Wolfe introduced the night’s big showstopper, Big Beautiful Dark & Scary as a contemplation on the possibility of personal happiness amidst disaster, its ineluctable, anguished, frenetic waves just as viscerally thrilling as they were chilling for the New Yorkers in the crowd who’d lived through 9/11 and the aftermath that the piece portrays.

After a long lull, the ensemble returned in a slightly augmented version for Louis Andriessen’s Hoketus. It’s a diptych of sorts: two maddening, claustrophobically minimalist melodies varied only by constantly changing rhythms, a study in authoritarianism and the human impulse to resist it. When clarinetist Ken Thomson led the ensemble with a leap into the animated second movement, it seemed that the people would win this fight. Or do they?

Gordon supplied the marathon’s coda, Timber, which turned out to be the shadow image of the Andriessen work, a wry, bone-shaking exploration of the kind of fun that can be had within a set of parameters. Where Andriessen set rules, Gordon offered guidelines. Played by sextet Mantra Percussion on a series of amplified sawhorses, it worked every trope in the avant garde stoner repertoire. Trancey motorik rhythms? Deep-space pulsar drones? Overtones at the very top and also the very bottom of the sonic spectrum? Innumerable false endings, good-natured exchanges between the players (who’d memorized the entire, practically hourlong score) and a light show triggered by just about every crescendo? Check, check, check and doublecheck. Gordon may be best known for his gravitas and otherworldly intensity, but his music can be great fun and this was exactly that. With its rolling drones echoing throughout the atrium like a distant storm on the Great Plains, it sent the crowd out into the night on a note that was both adrenalizing and soothing. It’s hard to imagine anything more fun to wind up a Sunday night in June in New York.

Two Intense Guitarists Steal the Show at the Mercury

Wednesday’s show at the Mercury ultimately boiled down to great lead guitar. Expat Australian five-piece band Reserved For Rondee are tight and talented, lead player Billy Magnussen proving to be the star of that particular show. You might assume that a band opening for the Last Internationale would think segue, backloading their set with the heavy stuff. Reserved for Rondee did the opposite. Then again, like so many bands from down under, they have zero regard for convention, mixing up genres that make no sense at all together. And most of the time it worked. Early 70s stoner rock with disco bass and drums? Check. Classic Motown mashed up with new wave, but heavier? Doublecheck. But the their best stuff came early in the set, Magnussen firing off searing, lickety-split blues riffage over beats that drummer Warren Hemenway switched up effortlessly from funky to dinosaurian, in an In Through the Out Door way. Rhythm guitarist Nick Focas and bassist Tom Degnan supplied the catchy changes as Magnussen spun through volleys of icy bluesmetal, hitting his volume pedal, mixing up the reverb and delay and a little later, wailing through a vintage analog chorus effect for a deliciously shivery, watery tone.

The only song that didn’t work, at least musically, was a shout-out to the band’s new home, Bushwick. First there was some shameless borough-centric namechecking in the same vein as what bands like the Easybeats were doing 45 years ago, tossing around gratuitous American references in hopes of scoring a hit here. But then there was a surprise: the gentrifiers at the center of the song see their “boutique everything” world disintegrate and end up on the street with their less fortunate neighbors!

By the time the Last Internationale hit the stage, the place was packed. Guitarist Edgey Pires comes from the same place as Magnussen, although his brand of blues is more unhinged and raw, part Fred “Sonic” Smith, part Jon Spencer. Where Magnussen varied his textures,  trebly Fender Twin natural distortion was enough for Pires to work with, delivering highs that shrieked and whined when he wasn’t flailing his way through terse, hypnotic vamps, wielding his reverb-fueled chords and savage, bluesy swipes like a machete. Frontwoman Delila Paz began the show playing a gorgeous vintage Vox Teardrop bass, switched to acoustic guitar a little later and then put it down for the rest of the show, swaying and belting with an impassioned, throaty intensity and a wide-angle vibrato. Most of the set was new songs from a forthcoming album due out later this summer, the best of which, We Will Reign, sounded like Patti Smith fronting the MC5. Both comparisons extend beyond the music to Paz’s defiant, confrontational lyrics. Her most memorable line reflected how quickly a hippie peace-and-love vibe collapses when the cops show up and send in the stormtroopers. Strangely, Paz’s most intense moment behind the mic – an anguished a-cappella gospel interlude – was the one place where she lost the crowd. Then drummer Brad Wilk (formerly of Rage Against the Machine) kicked in and everybody shut up and listened.

Green Party Lieutenant Governor candidate Brian Jones introduced the set and explained his platform. Universal single-payer healthcare met with barely any response, but when Jones mentioned returning to this state’s previous, decades-long policy of free college tuition at New York State schools, the crowd roared. And They responded even more energetically to raising the minimum wage to $15 an hour. Jones backloaded his own little set by promising to legalize marijuana if elected and received the kind of cheers you would expect from a crowd in a city whose new mayor hasn’t delivered on his own vow to back off on pot busts.

A Rare NYC Show and a Killer Roots Reggae Album by Israel’s Zvuloon Dub System

Israeli band Zvuloon Dub System play Ethiopian music, roots reggae style. A bright brass section carries the haunting modal riffs that make music from Ethiopia so instantly distinguishable from every other style on the planet. Add lustrous, ominous organ and spare, jangly guitar, occasionally played through a wah. Set that to a deep one-drop groove from the bass and drums, with a clavinova doubling the bassline a lot of the time, and you have a good idea what they sound like. They’ve got a new album, Anbessa Dub (Spotify link) and a gig at SOB’s on June 15 at 9 PM; $10 adv tix are highly recommended

The album opens strongly with the ominously organ-fueled minor-key instrumental Alemitu, followed by the slinky Tenesh Kelbe Lay, which is basically a blues. Like a lot of the songs here, this one alludes to but never hits the undulating triplet groove that so much of Ethiopian music has. And it fades out rather than hitting a decisive ending. Likewise, Sab Sam would be Afrobeat if the beat was faster; the organ solo midway through, sliding down with an icily watery tone, is arguably the high point of the album.

Man Begelgelni mashes up jazz-tinged 70s soul guitar, a bouncy, Bob Marleyesque vamp and droll video game effects from the synth, an overview of thirty years of roots reggae through a sun-warped Ethiopian prism. Strong baritone singer Mahmoud Ahmed guests on Ney Denun Tieshe, which with its incisively wary alto sax solo and bubbly guitar sounds like Debo Band at halfspeed. Creepy, carnivalesque organ gives Yehoden Awetech Lengeresh a psychedelic 70s edge, while Tsbukti Fektret, with guest singer Yaakov Lilay, gives the guitar a chance to get especially weird and trippy, its trebly tone almost a dead ringer for an electric harpsichord against the incisive horn riffage.

The warm, soul-inspired Endermenesh, sung by Zemene Melesse, sounds like a stripped-down Ethiopian take of Marley’s Could You Be Loved, lit up by oldschool soul guitar and purposeful trombone. Zelel Zelel returns to the blend of peak-era Marley, Ethiopiques and early 80s dub, with yet more of that deliciously macabre funeral organ. The album ends with Yene Almaz, a hypnotic, slowly swaying folk tune with screechy riti fiddle as the lead instrument. If classic reggae grooves, or Ethiopian music, or stoner sounds in general are your thing, don’t miss a rare chance to see this mysterious and excellent band live.

Sean Noonan Conjures Up More Menacing Magic

A pavee is an Irish Tinker, a member of the nomadic tribe who’ve spread culture, repair and reinvention across the Emerald Isle for centuries. Drummer Sean Noonan saw a connection between those travelers and what the band he’d pulled together for his latest album was doing during their lone rehearsal for it, so he was inspired to name Pavees Dance, his collection of darkly surrealistic, shapeshifting, highly improvised art-rock mini-epics, after them. The band also happens to be well-traveled: Aram Bajakian, Lou Reed’s last lead player, who might just be the most exciting guitarist in any style of music right now; bassist Jamaaladeen Tacuma, who famously did a long stint in free jazz pioneer Ornette Coleman’s band; and Can co-founder Malcolm Mooney, who was largely responsible for making that band’s debut album Monster Movie so monstrous, on vocals. This feral, individualistic crew wil be playing the album release show on May 30 at around 9 at Bowery Electric. Advance tix are $10; the show looks like it’s going to be a wild one.

Noonan’s previous album A Gambler’s Hand blended indie classical, chamber metal and art-rock, a collaboration with a string quartet assembled from the ranks of rising star indie classical Cadillac Moon Ensemble and fiery string group Trio Tritticali. This one’s even more of a rock record, equal parts punk, psychedelia and downtown jazz. Much as there’s obviously a lot of improvisation going on, it’s tight and focused, with the same relentless menace, sometimes distant, sometimes in your face, that characterized Noonan’s last album.

The brief opening track sets the stage, Noonan’s clustering drums holding it all together as Bajakian veers from Arto Lindsay skronk, to warps, scrapes, squalls and scratches while Tacuma goes from judicious ornamentation to a steady walk and then back. Mooney’s nonchalantly haphazard vocals, part spoken word, part proto-punk, raise the unease factor to redline. Sometimes he repeats a mantra, other times veers all over the map, so it’s hard to tell what, other than madness, he’s carrying on about in his weatherbeaten rasp. Which in itself makes perfect sense with the music.

Tacuma’s bass builds to an ominous gallop on the mini-suite There’s Always the Night, which takes a dive into Beatlesque flamenco-tinged rock, shifts to pounding skronk and then terse punk-funk. Quick Pick begins as an acid funk theme and then goes into creepy late 70s King Crimson territory, then shades of both the Grateful Dead and reggae before Bajakian hits a reverb-drenched, wailing, trickily syncopated crescendo. Moonwalk begins as a low-key vintage soul ballad, Noonan picking it up to practically hardcore-style agitation, then Bajakian channels Ron Asheton with a wah circa 1969 – the way the band effortlessly and instantly shifts between idioms and eras here might sound awkward, but in their hands it’s the most natural thing in the world.

No Strings Attached is a showcase for Bajakian at his most elegant, evoking David Gilmour with his gleaming, resonant Brain Damage lines while Tacuma solos with a similarly purposeful, horn-inspired attack. The final track, Portrait of a Heartless Lover reverts to juxtaposing oldschool soul with acidic King Crimson art-rock – although Noonan is a vastly more nuanced and down-to-earth drummer than Bill Bruford. Bajakian’s vintage art-rock lead builds to the one point on the album where the center collapses into raw noise, Mooney leading them out with a darkly sardonic tale that’s either about a murder or at least a psychic one.

In addition to the album, there’s a companion book – also available as an e-book – featuring both the lyrics as well as Mooney’s original album art and plus poetry by Mooney, Marquita Pool-Eckert and Lowell Henry.

Quirky, Trippy, Ethereal Vocal Adventures with Singer Emilie Weibel’s oMoO

Swiss-born, Brooklyn-based singer Emilie Weibel’s quirky, ethereal, sometimes mesmerizing oMoO solo project = Bjork + Stereolab divided by Laurie Anderson in minimalist musique concrète mode. That may sound reductionistic, but there are elements of all three in play on her debut album, much of which is streaming at her music page. Much as there’s an irrepressible “let’s throw THIS in the blender now and see what happens” esthetic here, Weibel’s sonic adventure is a lot more focused than what you usually get from your typical girl with laptop and time on her hands. She’s playing the album release show for this one on May 22 at 8 PM Greenwich House Music School, 46 Barrow St. in the west village on an excellent double bill with the similarly inclined Sara Serpa, who is also releasing a new album, a duo with guitarist Andre Matos.

As you would expect, some of the oMoO pieces are playful and fun; others have a hypnotic, sometimes narcotic quality. Weibel opens the album’s firs track, Lemania with a grinningly suspenseful build to a big whoop and then a slow acid-jazz groove, a rapt depiction of mountainside majesty. On Footprints, she sets out-of-the-box Joni Mitchell jazz vocals over a casual but trickily strolling rhythm, hits another big vocal swoop and then switches languages from English to French as a storm brews in the distance. The downtempo, ethereal Paola is a showcase for Weibel’s breathy upper register, followed by the similarly laid-back but animated Tu Dis and its layers of multitracked, whimsically jazz-tinged vocals.

As you’d expect from its title, Weibel sings the brief music-box lullaby L’Heure Exquise in her native French, with a rapt tenderness. River Song morphs out of hip-hop samples, a djembe loop and a tinkling mobile  into a trip-hop travelogue with hazy high harmonies. The project’s signature song, oMoO (a Herman Melville reference, in case you were wondering), juxtaposes seaside ambience with gently dancing vocals. The closing cut, Hello Lea is the quirkiest, asking how life is in the clouds while “losing my mind with sheep and clowns” [WARNING: this track contains a sample of a car alarm]. Weibel’s music asks more questions than it answers and gives the listener plenty of room to reflect and consider what those might be.

Jaro Milko & the Cubalkanics Blow Up in Your Face

Jaro Milko & the Cubalkanics’ new album Cigarros Explosivos – streaming at Bandcamp – sounds kind of like a Balkan version of Chicha Libre. Yeah, that good. The Firewater lead guitarist proves to be as original and interesting playing Peruvian surf music as his Brooklyn counterparts, who jumpstarted the whole chicha revival. It reaffirms how the cumbia revolution has taken over the entire globe – or at least established a base pretty much everywhere. This seems to be as much of a deviously tongue-in-cheek homage to classsic Peruvian sounds as it is a mix of killer original chicha grooves. Another band this brings to mind, for its surreal sense of humor and frequently cinematic sensibility, is Finnish surf legends Laika & the Cosmonauts.

The opening track, Cumbia Griega sets the stage, taking a classic Los Mirlos bassline and then coming together around a spiky Enrique Delgado-style hammer-on guitar riff from Milko, who plays an army’s worth of guitars here. After Eric Gilson’s organ and Eric Gut’s drums come in, it sounds like Chicha Libre in noir mode, part creepy surf, part Peruvian psychedelica.

El Topo could be an early Los Straitjackets number- the band turns up the distortion and adds the hint of a New Orleans shuffle beat. Over a dark reggae groove, All the Past ponders what’s left for a culture after “money’s here for joy in the world of desire” and pushes everything else out of the picture…more or less. Cumbia #5, which happens to be the fourth track, builds a dubwise tropical atmosphere and then shifts to blippy southern Balkan-flavored electric guitar jazz.

Miseria adds swing, hints of flamenco and ominous organ to a classic psychedelic cumbia vamp. The album’s longest track, Summer in January builds a wry, wistful seaside tableau. Where Chicha Libre bring in a French influence, these guys do the same with the Balkans, with a similar wit and erudition – and in this case, Milko’s elegant twelve-string guitar lines.

A brisk Balkan tango with some sizzling tremolo-picked guitar, Belly’s Bounce sounds like Laika & the Cosmonauts with horns, Milko’s frenetic lead lines contrasting with Lukas Briggen’s suave trombone. El Perro evokes Peruvian psychedelic legends Los Destellos working a LA lowrider groove, but more aggressively, while Herido blends Del Shannon noir with a creepy bolero: it’s arguably the album’s strongest track.

Danza Mentirosa keeps the creepy vibe going, a dubwise crime jazz theme that evokes Big Lazy with an organ. Cumbia Orientale is not a cumbia but an ominously marching Vegas tango, while Nah Neh Nah introduces a surfed-up ye-ye pop theme, Milko first playing a little Django and then a whole lot of Django: the guy’s an amazing guitarist. The album winds up with the surreal, cynical, rhythmically dizzying, disquieting Music Rum & Cha Cha Cha. Until Chicha Libre makes another album, this is the best recent mix of south-of-border psychedelics you’ll find anywhere.

New Electric Ride’s Balloon Age: Brilliantly Crazed Retro 60s Psychedelia

British group New Electric Ride are a period-perfect, fantastic mid-60s style psychedelic rock band. As their new album Balloon Age goes on, it becomes a wickedly funny, good-natured parody of mid-60s style psychedelia of all kinds. The Rutles, XTC’s Dukes of Stratosphear albums or Love Camp 7‘s Love Camp VII album are the closest thing to what they’re doing here, a spot-on evocation of tropes from across the acid rock and acid pop spectrum, right down to the vintage guitar, bass and keyboard sounds. The whole delicious thing is streaming at their Bandcamp page.

A trippy orchestral intro opens the first number, Here Comes the Bloom, which is sort of the 13th Floor Elevators doing Sergeant Pepper. There’s some twelve-string jangle from 60s guitar polymath Jack Briggs, then an unexpectedly ominous, shuffling bridge that works its way down to Adam Cole’s fuzz bass riff before the fun begins all over again. Marquis de Sade imagines the old philosopher as a stoner, from a funky Cream intro, through a little early Santana and then a galloping proto-metal interlude fueled by Craig Oxberry’s artful drums before some very funny vocals kick in.

From Paul Nelson’s faux-vibraphone keyboard intro through its intensely catchy slide guitar riffage contrasting with offcenter, lushly watery vintage chorus-box guitar – and what might be a murder mystery narrative – Bye Bye Baton Rouge is arguably the album’s strongest track. A Submarine Song is where the satire really gets heavy, in this case a litany of White Album-era Beatles references. The lyrics are just as funny: “Diving deep through the foam and brine I spin, tickling fins and dodging whales,” but this would-be Jules Verne isn’t allowed to tell the tale since it’s classified information!

The slow, slinky I Feel So Invited lampoons an Abbey Road vamp, Briggs’ anachronistic Dick Dale-style tremolo-picking knocking everything else to the side. In Chains, from the band’s previous ep, shoots for a psychedelic organ soul sound a la the Spencer Davis Group or Vanilla Fudge, rising to more of that killer, watery guitar. Lovers, another track that first appeared on the ep, goes back to stealing wryly from the Fab Four.

I Can’t Help but Smile, the poppiest track here, evokes the Moody Blues circa In Search of the Lost Chord trying to bring a little bossa nova into their psych-folk shuffle. The Beyond mingles more epic Moody Blues with early War-style latin soul, the Byrds, a droll quote from the Lemon Pipers and a bizarre Jefferson Airplane outro – in case anybody was wondering if these guys knew their source material or not, this seals the deal. As they did with their ep, the band take their sound a little further into the 70s to close the album with the ominously harmony-driven From Under Me, its darkly swaying, blues-tinged Pretty Things atmospherics spiced with lively brass. Much as there are droll and squirrelly effects here, the overall ambience is more straight-ahead and serious…but then again with this band, you never know how much they’re messing with your mind. That’s what makes this album, a lock for one of the best of 2014, so much fun.

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